


Sweet and Right

by Soupernabturel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, But no one dies, Comrades in Arms, Discussions on death/dying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Historical AU, M/M, Mutual Pining, One-Shot, Pining Dean, Short One Shot, Soldier!Cas, Soldier!Dean, War, World War I, trenches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3974365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupernabturel/pseuds/Soupernabturel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean sighed and glanced up, squinting against the falling rain, lighter than earlier that evening.</p><p>“Last night on earth,” he said, shifting the silence, “got any plans?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet and Right

 

 

 

“So,” said Dean as he returned from sentry duty, “Odds are we’ll both be dead men tomorrow.”

 

“Yes.” Castiel handed him a cigarette, one Dean took eagerly, his own soaked through in mud and slosh.

 

Though his hands shook, Dean lifted the thin stick to his lips, tilted his head into Cas’ direction and allowed the steady handed medic to light.

 

“S’lright for you body snatchers,” Dean said, leaning back after a few deep puffs, “just gotta carry the stretches.”

 

Castiel narrowed his eyes. His already stern expression hardening. “You should know that that’s no guarantee that I’ll make it through.”

 

Dean swallowed. He was right. Just last week the guy Cas had been snatching with had been shot dead, bullet clean between the eyes as he tried to drag an injured man off the field.

 

Castiel had told Dean later he’d liked the man, who was actually more of a boy; Alfie. He’d signed up voluntarily for country and glory. Instead he got left in the cesspool that was no-mans-land, the fire too heavy for Castiel to drag his body back.

 

Dean bit his cigarette between his teeth and curled his hands in his lap. “Right. Sorry.”

 

They sat and smoked together, not talking, looking up at the sky. They’d been doing this for the last five months. The semblance of routine welcome to the both of them.

 

When rain fell in the trenches it did so in abysmal torrents, diluting the gore tainted landscape. It drained blood from corpses and carried it along in weaves and ditches through the trenches.

 

Dean sighed and glanced up, squinting against the falling rain, lighter than earlier that evening.

 

“Last night on earth,” he said, shifting the silence, “got any plans?”

 

“You should know that is a highly depressing thought.” Cas murmured, not looking away from ahead as he answered.

 

Dean laughed in spite of himself and wiped a chilled hand along the top of his thigh. “So?”

 

“So?”

 

“Got any plans?” he asked again. Castiel stared for a moment. Dean heard him swallow.

 

“I thought I would just, sit here quietly.” He said.

 

Dean bristled. “You’re serious.”

 

He almost expected Castiel to say ‘deadly’, asshole that he was. Instead, just as Dean was about to get up and leave the man to his last moment of respite, Castiel said quietly:

 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to some company.”

 

His eyes were very blue, shadowed by the low light. His pink smile was softened around the edges, not its usual hard set, drawing his jaw in a taught line.

 

Dean looked away and rubbed one clammy hand over his face. “Yeah-sure. Sure Cas.” He said and eased himself back down, shifting just the smallest bit closer to the other man then before.

 

It was fucking cold out. People said body heat helped.

 

It seemed to please Castiel, for he nodded, smiled and shifted toward Dean right back.

 

Their thighs pressed together gently then harder, a long line of heat. Their shoulders bumped and Dean released a breath.

 

There was no one around in sight. Dean and Castiel were alone.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“If this is our last night,” Castiel said with hesitation, he was rubbing his fingers together, his thumb along the side of his ring-finger, in a gesture Dean had come to understand was nervous. “And you could have, could _do_ anything with it you wanted one last time, what would it be?”

 

Dean knew his answer because he’d thought about it before. “Anything?”

 

Castiel nodded.

 

Dean cleared his throat and looked out. “I’d wanna see my brother.” he squashed what remained of his cigarette in the mud. “But I suppose I have a better chance of doing that after tomorrow.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Dean shrugged and ignored the ache in his chest, like a phantom limb- Sam never really left him. His death was never really far from Dean’s mind. It would be a relief in some ways tomorrow, joining him. “Outside of that I think I’d like to spend tonight in bed, a real one so to speak. You know…with someone.”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes, but not without some affection. “I’m sure a lot of men would agree with you.”

 

“I didn’t mean like that.”

 

“Oh.” Castiel said, genuinely surprised. Dean tried not to think of that as a reflection on his character.

 

He licked his lips, is lower stung with a crack cut near the corner. “I’d like a clean bed firstly. Then I’d like to- to lay down with someone I-I-that I care for. Just to sleep knowing they were close by with our arms-”

 

Dean shifted, crossing and uncrossing his legs. Castiel was watching him, eyes hauntingly dark, shifting, lips slightly parted. For a few brief seconds Dean let himself wonder what it would be like to sink his fingers into his dark hair, draw him over into a kiss. He imagined their legs intertwining as they slid together for one last night of pleasure before the end. Free of grime and war and lice and mud. Just Castiel touching him, kissing him, holding him after, during, before. Right up until the horn’s sound tomorrow morning making them break apart.

 

“I-I’d best get some sleep,” Dean muttered with false cheerfulness. Slamming a wall down between his inner thoughts and outer expression. He stood, clapped a hand to Castiel’s shoulder and remembered to keep the contact for only a few seconds. Forced himself not to slide his hand up and cup the grubby side of Castiel’s face.

 

It was probably wishful thinking but for a moment Dean thought he saw Castiel’s eyes lower, his dark lashes brush against the tops of his cheeks as he leant into the touch.

 

It lasted a moment, before Castiel spoke and Dean’s hand fell to his side.

 

“Yes. Goodnight Dean.” Castiel said and looked back out at the trench wall.

 

Dean hesitated a moment, but Castiel didn’t move.

 

“Night Cas.” He said, and with squelching steps made his way.

 

It wasn’t until he’d reached his cot, small, uncomfortable, squeaky, that Dean wondered what Castiel would have answered to his own question. If Dean had bucked up the courage to ask.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](soupernabturel.tumblr.com)


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